Tag Archives: socks


I hate assessments. The ones usually given at a work conference that ask questions such as, ‘If you had the choice between matching socks or no socks, which would you choose?’ designed, of course, to determine if my personality will mesh with the rest of my coworker’s. I hate those questions. My answer will never be the same on any given day. Ask me that question after I’ve had my bowl of Wheaties and my adventurous nature will answer, ‘No socks!’ Ask me the same question the next day during a rain storm in the late fall and I’m definitely not leaving the house without socks on.

The same goes for what I want to write about. I have a ton of thoughts going through my mind, seventeen different answers to the same question posed to me-the answer you get will change depending on when you ask it and what’s going on in my life at the moment.

Needless to say my kids are never bored with me as a mom and my coworkers are constantly shocked and amused and surprised by what I might say or do at any given moment. Sometimes I even surprise myself; more often I think I should have said thought #7 vs #8, but oh-well, maybe next time.

All of that was my way of saying you never know what I’m gonna write about and when I do write about the same topic again it could be a completely different aspect than the one I wrote before.

Definitely won’t be finding my niche anytime soon-and I’m cool with that. 🙂


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One Mile Smile

by Sarah Clouser

Mind of Chaos

How easy it would be, to sit here, telling the world that my struggles were all due to outside sources, that my 2am, scattered-sleep nights were caused by a destructive family life, or the villainous boys I met in high school. How easy it would be to place the blame on undeserved circumstances. I am a strong believer in the “we make our own choices” concept of life, and that life does not discriminate in placing innocent people, in hard paths of being. For me, the life-defining choice was to allow myself to fall victim to my own mind, and for my inside, tyrannical anxiety, to control my outside actions. That moment, whenever it might have been, has visited me in nightmare-like ways, all throughout my young adulthood.

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